


Creature Comforts

by theheadandthekin



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mattress Shopping, Mild Smut, Romance, Sex Talk, Shopping, Swearing, bed sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-03-26 18:32:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3860275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheadandthekin/pseuds/theheadandthekin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crane is unhappy to be stuck with a double bed in Corbin's cabin, so he and Abbie endeavor to come up with a solution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because American double beds are really too short for folks over 6 feet tall. (Which makes the fact that Corbin's cabin has a double bed all the more baffling!) Shopping and bed-sharing tropes collide!

“Miss Mills, may I inquire about something I noticed in your bedroom?”

Cradling a coffee mug and distracted by a text from Jenny, Abbie hummed in reply.

“I do not mean to be improper, but can you tell me why a person as petite as yourself requires a bed that is so … large?”

He had her full attention now. _Beds. Her bed. Her in her bed._ Him thinking about her in her bed. _Okay._ Abbie drew in a deep breath. She could not imagine this line of questioning going anywhere she wanted to go at 7:52AM.

“It’s called a king. Beds—well, and mattresses, sheets, everything—these days come in a bunch of standard sizes: twin, full, queen, king, California king. It was a splurge. Makes me feel like I’m staying in a fancy hotel. Ready to go?”

She downed the rest of her coffee and didn’t mention anything about her sleeping habits. How she slept right in the middle for fear of falling off the edge. Or how a larger bed made it easier to share. Crane knew there were certain comforts she enjoyed; she was tough, but when she had the choice, she’d choose heated leather seats, thank you very much.

To Crane’s benefit, he didn’t tease or press her explanation. Instead, he arched an eyebrow and jabbed his keys at her as they readied to head into the station. “And why, pray tell, was I not made aware of the fact that for these past two years I could have been enjoying the comforts of a bed that is _properly sized_ to my height?”

Abbie groaned. “Seriously?”

“I will have you know, Lieutenant, that I have awoken many nights with my feet dangling off the end of the mattress. It is _most_ uncomfortable.”

“Fine. We’ll get you a new bed.” She grabbed her jacket and trailed him out the front door to the car.

Clearly the gross injustice of the cabin bed had really worked him up. “I do not understand why I would need to buy something new if we could simply swap _your_ bed with mine, seeing that you don’t need the extra space. Wasting perfectly go—”

“ _Hell no._ I am not going to sleep on that thing. It might as well be a crib.”

“See? Even _you_ think it is too small.”

* * *

After they got off work, they found themselves ringed by sales associates in an otherwise empty Sleepy’s. Crane was already poking a gel pillow display with a long finger, engrossed in the way the material squished under pressure.

“So,” Abbie sighed, surveying the sharks. “We’re looking for a mattress. Nothing fancy. Just a basic queen-sized mattress.”

“No! No.” Crane finally looked up from his pillow-poking. “We are looking for a _king-_ sized mattress.”

“While he would _love_ a king, we’re on a pretty tight budget.”

A silent look passed among the sales staff, and the three men quickly retreated, leaving a middle-aged woman with graying curls and a big smile eyeing the pair.

They were in trouble. She shouldn’t have said anything about what a _we_.

“Why don’t you two come have a seat over here, and I’ll ask you some questions. Get a better sense of what you’re looking for.”

“Ms.—”

“Linda.”

“Linda, we really are just looking for a basic model, with a metal frame, and delivery.”

“Oh, _no,_ honey, a mattress is an investment. There’s no such thing as a ‘basic’ mattress, unless you want to order one from Walmart. Now, tell me about your sleeping habits.”

Abbie shook her head and instinctively backed herself behind Crane, signaling this shit was on him. “Sorry, it’s for him. I’m just here to help out.”

Crane glanced down at Abbie, the tightening around his eyes telling her a smirk was imminent. “I am looking to upgrade my current bed _situation,_ which Miss Mills this morning called, I quote, a ‘crib’.”

That comment wasn’t going to help clear anything up. And the way Linda’s eyes lit up was alarming.

“Oh! So, he’s been staying at your place, and now you’ve finally stayed at his. I know how this goes.”

“We’re not together. No. _No_. I’m just here for moral support.” Abbie could not even make herself look at Crane.

Yet he saved them any further embarrassment. “Truly. I’ve never purchased a mattress before, and Miss Mills is much more educated in these things that I.”

“Sorry, I just assumed … most people don’t bring their friends mattress shopping.” Linda actually looked rather contrite, and turned her full attention to Crane. “Let’s get you what you need, then. Firm or soft?”

“Excuse me?”

“Firm or soft? Which do you prefer?”

He looked genuinely perplexed.

“Crane, she means the mattress. They come in different levels of firmness. Like, squishy or hard.”

“I _see._ My current mattress is rather like a bag of turnips, so I do not believe I have a good frame of reference.”

“Well, why don’t you try out a few?” Linda gestured around the sales floor. “They each have a color tag indicating firmness level. You can get a better idea about what you like.”

“You’re telling me to _lay_ on these mattresses _here_? In the middle of the store?”

“Come on, Crane. It’s what people do in mattress stores. Linda, we’ll report back.”

* * *

“Lieutenant, you must test this one!” Crane patted the bare mattress. It was probably $2,000, and of course it was the one he’d taken a shine to.

“I have one, remember?”

Crane rolled onto his side and propped his head on his left hand. “Oh, come, it is the most comfortable thing I have ever rested upon. You will not regret it.”

She checked out the tag affixed to the corner as she sat. _Yep. $1,700. $1,700 neither of us have._

Abbie bounced a few times on the edge of the mattress. “Not bad. Expensive, though. Maybe we should try the sale corner?”

Crane wiggled his toes, a good few inches from the foot, ignoring her. “I would no longer have to curl up like a cat in order to sleep through the night.”

“Then we know the queen works just fine.” She punctuated her statement with a ‘no-bs’ look over her shoulder.

“All right. But only if we purchase this one. And you test it out.”

Linda was watching them like a hawk. A very, very interested hawk.

“First, Crane, _you_ are buying the mattress. Second, I do not need to test it out any more than I already am.”

“But Lieutenant—what if you should, heaven forbid, get sick or injured whilst at the cabin, and you’d need use of my bed? All of this effort put into a procuring a mattress would be all for naught, since I would be sleepless with worry about the eventuality of your discomfort.”

“Oh my God. Fine.” Abbie swung her feet up onto the mattress, staying close to the edge. Crane was practically in the middle, and it didn’t give her much room.

“How’s it feel?”

She closed her eyes, letting the mattress work its magic on her stiff back. _Heavenly._ “Pretty good. Okay, yeah, this is nice.”

They both lay silent for a minute; when she opened her eyes again, she found him still watching her. Being horizontal, on a bed, talking about beds, with him, relaxed, in the middle of a strip mall mattress store, his eyes sparkling like that …. _Damn disorienting._

“What?”

He reached over and found her hand, wrapping her fingers in his. “How much?”

“$1,700 before tax.”

He blinked in obvious surprise, but kept ahold of her hand. “And how much was your mattress, before you accuse me of considering a gross misuse of funds?”

“Yeah, around that.”

“Is it this comfortable?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“And it is as long as this one?”

“Yeah ….” Abbie was getting suspicious about where this was going.

“Since you vetoed my suggestion to swap, I believe the most reasonable alternative, given its large size, would be for us to share your bed.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how does Abbie react to Crane's suggestion? Here's Part 2! Note that the tone is a bit more serious--less humor, more introspection--than the first part. I also now feel committed to a Part 3, so--spoiler alert--smut will be forthcoming.

‘Blind panic’ was the best label that Abbie had for her feelings at that moment, and even it felt inadequate.

She had three options: rocket off the mattress, brush off whatever that was, regardless of his intent; stay put, assume he was teasing, needling her further about her too-large mattress, and tease him right back; or stay put and assume that Ichabod Crane had decided a _mattress store_ was the right place to finally make a move. There was no clear action plan for option three, so she picked the middle ground—option two. Option two meant no hurt feelings, no awkwardness, and probably no sad puppy eyes.

These thoughts tumbled through her head in just a short moment, and quickly the absurdity of the situation broke over them. Abbie laughed, closing her eyes again and shaking her head back and forth on the plush model pillow.

“You just want to have your cake and eat it, too. Cheapskate.”

He hadn’t moved, continuing to gaze down at her. Even with her own eyes closed, she could feel his on her. “Miss Mills, I do not see any purpose to having a cake and _not_ eating it. And I fail to see what baked goods have to do with beds." 

Yeah, option one was seeming better and better.

“It’s an expression. And you’re full of shit, because I know perfectly damn well it existed in your time.”

She ventured to look at him. He was _so_ close, his whole face bright and amused. Abbie let herself have the moment, let herself take in his features, following the angles of his nose, down to his lips, and back up to a slightly arched eyebrow.

She kept her eyes up as he dragged the hand he was _still_ holding up to his lips.

_What the fuck is even happening._

“Crane ….”

“I promise you, I _will_ have my cake,” he said, pausing to again press his lips to her knuckles. “And eat it, too.”

He must have cottoned onto the confusion and fear that she was actively trying to push down. With the tiniest smile, Crane slipped away from her and bounced off the mattress.

Upright, proper, with hands clasped behind his back, he called to Linda.

“Do you have a question, sir?” Linda looked unabashedly like the cat who’d eaten the canary.

“No, but I have made a decision. I would very much like to purchase this mattress here.”

Abbie groaned from where she now sat up on the bed. “It’s way too expensive.”

Linda watched them both a moment. “I’ll tell you what: let me see what I can do.”

* * *

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Shush. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Don’t ‘shush’ me, Crane. You have to save money. This isn’t like the old days, when you had an estate that would last forever, you know?”

“Ah! But I _do_ have a credit card. And I was disowned, so I do remember something of managing money, thank you.” 

“Still can’t believe you flirted your way into that.” _Or that you’re walking, talking white male privilege._ She’d told him so when it happened, gave him a big, long lecture. He’d actually listened.

“Miss Mills, we spend approximately one-third of our lives asleep. I’ve certainly spent more than that, of course, but I _do_ enjoy some luxuries of the modern world, and I happen to have already enjoyed this mattress very much.”

Abbie rolled her eyes; the spell of his earlier charm was wearing off—just slightly. “You are like an innuendo machine tonight.”

“I do not know of what you speak, but I should draw your attention to that sign over there.” He pointed to a banner on the window, emblazoned with a loud, neon orange ‘40% OFF ALL PREMIUM MATTRESSES’ across it. 

“I believe I will be get getting what you’d call a ‘deal’.”

* * *

The mattress was set to deliver to the cabin in two days.

Pulling out into traffic, Abbie finally felt calm and collected enough to _think._ Crane was diddling with his phone, seemingly still in a good mood despite dropping nearly $1,000 on a mattress. She didn’t know whether it was because he still didn’t quite understand how much that was (since everything was expensive to him) or how a credit card worked—or because he didn’t really care. But, blissfully, he was _allowing_ her time to think.

Seamus had hooked Crane up with an older Toyota with a salvage title. He hated it, claimed it was ‘uncool,’ but it had been clean, available, and dirt cheap. It was not the worst car she’d driven—by far—and Abbie focused on the soft whine of engine as she ferried them back to Sleepy Hollow.

Ten minutes later, she was turning onto her block when she felt a warm hand settle onto her shoulder.

“Lieutenant?”

She swallowed. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Shall we order dinner in?”

She nodded. They stopped at the curb, but Abbie didn’t move to get out. “Are _you_ okay?” 

He furrowed his brow. “Whyever would I not be?”

“Nothing,” she said as he climbed out of the car. She scanned the back seat, making sure he’d gotten the delivery paperwork, and spotted a duffle bag neatly tucked away on the floor. 

“Yo, Crane?” Abbie called through the open driver’s door.

But he was already on the phone ordering take-out and pulling out his keys. He made eye contact and mouthed ‘Indian,’ and she gave him a thumbs-up. The bag could wait.

He held open the front door for her, his phone tucked against his ear while he ordered her lamb jalfrezi because his other hand was at the small of her back.

* * *

They ate standing in her kitchen. It was weird, but it was them; tonight, they were too informal for the table and too _something_ for the couch.

Abbie nudged the toe of her boot against his. “Hey, you made a big move today.”

“Oh?”

“First furniture buy! That’s huge. I was skeptical, but you know, it’ll be good for—”

“Lieutenant, stop.” Crane set the take-out carton down on the counter. “Something has been weighing on my mind, and I am in need of some clarity on the matter. You told Linda that we are not ‘together.’”

“Well, we’re not. Not like she meant, anyway. The shacking up bit. Sharing a bed. Yada, yada.”

“And what are we then, if not ‘together,’ as you say?” 

“Witnesses. Partners. Friends. I dunno; it’s hard to define, right?”

He pushed off the counter and stood up straight, transitioning into what she termed ‘Professor Mode.’ She braced herself a bit defensively—out of habit—ready to be on the wrong end of the Socratic method.

“How many hours have we spent together today?”

Abbie furrowed her brow at the unexpected question. “Um, nearly … fourteen?” 

“When did you leave the cabin last night?” 

“11:30ish?” 

“And the day before?” 

“Was Sunday. I was with Jenny in the city, and you were at the Trenton reenactment.”

“And yet you brought over donut holes that morning. And Saturday, we were at the powwow in West Point with Ash and Jenny. I believe we made plans to go to the shore this coming week’s end—weather and demon activity permitting.”

“ _Crane._ ”

“I certainly would find other company if I wanted it, Abbie. I do not.”

“Yeah? Me neither.”

“Is that so?” He stopped pacing; his tone was so light, warm, and curious, but tempered by a note of caution. “Am I to take that to mean that you are _not_ sharing that over-large bed with another?” 

Abbie picked at her lamb. “What would you do if I was?”

“I would be honor-bound to challenge him—or her—to a duel.”

“Okay, no.” She flashed a quick smile and waved her fork to emphasize the point. “No dueling.”

But she took his point. They _were_ together. No, they hadn’t fucked, hadn’t even kissed, but they were _together_. Linda had been right: friends don’t take friends mattress shopping. Friends didn’t do at least half of the shit they did together—even discounting Witness duties.

The kissing, fucking, bed-sharing? That was going to be the easy part. And it was inevitable.

“So you’ve been courting me, huh?” She ventured.

He stepped forward, drawing her eyes up, and laid a soft kiss on her forehead, careful to steer clear of her fork.

“I’ll be ready whenever you are,” he whispered against her hair, just over her ear. “And when you are, Abbie, you shall be grateful for every square inch of your delightfully enormous bed. And for the grotesque sum I paid for that new mattress. I have _plans._ ”

The familiar heat that burned in her abdomen flared—and she decided to let it.

 _That’s it. I’m a grown ass woman._ She nudged him back with her elbow. “Go get your damn bag out of the car, Crane. We'll go from there."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crane demonstrates that, despite apparent lack of knowledge about mattresses, he has very much done his homework about other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This could have been 10,000 words of smut. Forgive me, it isn't. There's a smidgen of angst in the beginning because, hey now, Crane dropped a pretty big bomb in chapter 2, but it's mostly played for humor, so read it with the intended light tone. Abbie's nervous and a little blindsided, not in some deep personal crisis, and is used to just going with the flow when hooking up, and Crane's whole 'planning' thing is a bit out there for her.

Waiting for Crane to return from the car, Abbie wrapped up their leftovers. Doing what she was best at: focusing on the immediate task in front of her.

That Crane _had_ planned this—for some time, as she reflected on the way that they had eased more and more into one another’s lives after Katrina died—made her more nervous than she ever thought she might be. What did he actually expect from her? And, honestly, it ruffled her just a bit that he expected anything.

She _had_ thought about it, though: watched his fingers running across the spines of antique books, felt the ripple of lean muscles in his torso as held her back from fights she couldn’t win, listened to his voice caress the syllables of ancient languages, noticed the intensity of the focus he sometimes gave to her. But that was pure realm-of-fantasy stuff. Saved for a rainy day.

Crane popped back in the front door. Present, alive, and not at _all_ in the realm of fantasy. “I’m curious: how’d you know I brought this?”

“I’m a detective, Crane.”

“Indeed.” He hesitated, fingers twitching at his side.

Abbie gestured at the duffle he had slung over his shoulder. “That’s an overnight bag?”

“Yes.”

“You want to stay?”

“Very much so, yes.”

“And you know what that means—to me. That staying doesn’t mean on the couch or in the guest room?”

“Abbie, I have lived in this century long enough to have picked up _some_ of your expectations of courtship behavior. And let me say, there are some things I find discomfiting about this time, but I am quite glad of the frankness with which your generation speaks of certain matters.”

This was typical of them, just fumbling through shit. _If you’d asked me three hours ago what I’d be doing tonight, I would’ve definitely said Netflix, not Crane._

_Okay, back that train up. You aren't in bed yet.  
_

“Yeah, except we don’t actually talk about it much. It’s like, certain behaviors we understand to mean certain things. So, okay. No ambiguity.”

“I think I take your meaning. In the interest of avoiding such ambiguity, am I to understand that I am i _nvited_ to stay?”

“Jesus. Yes.”

He dropped the bag on the back of her sofa and advanced on her, holding her gaze. “In your bed?”

“Yeah.”

“And do I have your permission, Lieutenant, to touch you?”

She nodded, and he wrapped his fingers around one wrist, stroking it lightly with his thumb.

“To kiss you? Anywhere?”

He drew her wrist up and pressed his warm lips over her veins once, then again, firmer, wetter—sucking just a tiny bit.

“To pleasure you?”

His lips grazed up her palm until he drew two of her fingers into his mouth. Abbie swallowed, throat dry. She nodded again to be sure he understood her consent.

Stepping away, not exactly wanting to, but also not quite ready to dive into what Crane was promising, she pulled in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“Was that not to your liking?” He furrowed his brow, studying her reaction.

Abbie sputtered out a laugh. “Don’t. I just need a second. We’re kind of going from 0 to 60 here.”

“By all means, Lieutenant.”

“We also need to talk before anything else happens. It’s not sexy, but I do not want to have this conversation in the middle of ….” She trailed off and gestured toward her bedroom. “It’s a 21st century thing.”

He looked wary, sure she was distancing herself. “Go on.”

“I’ve got an IUD, so I’m not going to get pregnant. And I’m disease-free. Checked out less than six months ago. No one since. We’ve been busy, right? But I also need to know if you’re carrying around any 18th century nasties because I am not dealing with any 250-year-old germs.”

“Recall I had a full course of strong antibiotics when I was in the hospital, as well as a number of viral tests and full blood panel. And, in my day, we took venereal disease very seriously. I assure you that talk of such things is not a ‘21st century thing.’ When you’ve seen a weep—”

“Nope. Nope. Don’t need the visual. Just need to know I’m not going to have to explain anything weird to my doctor.”

Crane grinned, probably realizing that expecting flowery words from her was too much, and facing a challenge head-on was more her style. Returning to the bag on the back of the couch, he zipped it open and pulled out a purple box of condoms, giving it a shake. _‘Her Pleasure’_ Trojans.

If the visual of Ichabod Crane buying condoms in Walgreens from a pimply teenager wasn’t so ridiculous, Abbie thought she might have fainted dead away. _I do_ not _swoon. Nope._

His smug voice propped her back up. “Regardless, we _are_ prepared.”

“What’s that I’ve heard before? Forewarned _is_ forearmed? Any other surprises, Captain Crane?”

“That depends on your definition of ‘surprise.’ I read a certain sex columnist who advised that partners should be ‘good, giving, and game,’ a turn of phrase I quite enjoy. Not knowing what your _preferences_ are in this arena, I have procured a number of items, assuming, of course, that you would provide handcuffs if necessary.”

This was not what Abbie had been expecting. Not at all. “Oh my God. What the hell?”

He scoffed, but his voice was low. “Truly, Lieutenant, such a thing does not take much imagination.”

“I swear to God if there is a gimp mask in that bag, Apocalypse be damned, I am sending you straight to purgatory.”

“Ah, _no_. A little too close to the Horseman, that. One must draw the line somewhere.” He waggled his eyebrows and pulled out a book—because _of course_ he’d bring a reference manual, probably complete with footnotes, to a hook up.

Abbie crossed in front of him to still his hands on the _Kama Sutra._ “Later.”

“Are you having second thoughts? I did not mean to presume. And I guess I am appearing too eager.”

“No, it’s good. Really. Trust me, Crane, I would rather be with a guy who shows up with advice from Dan Savage and a riding crop and ready to talk about it than with a guy who is suddenly like, ‘Oops, I thought that was the other hole.’”

To his credit, he looked positively horrified at that.

“ _But_ we can worry about lotuses and bamboo and whatever later.” She stared up at the ceiling light, avoiding his gaze. It felt good to be frank, but this was pushing her comfort. _God, I am the shittiest communicator._ “Let’s just see where this goes tonight, right?”

“Miss Mills, I do not want you distracted with worry. I would rather wait another two hundred years than see you skittish as a rabbit.”

She pulled a face, but couldn’t help the good humor that bled through it. “That’s bullshit.”

“I wouldn’t _prefer_ waiting that long, but I assure you the sentiment is true.”

“Look, Crane—Ichabod—we haven’t even kissed.”

“Well, that is an oversight I shall endeavor to remedy immediately.”

 _Keep cool,_ Abbie thought, despite being just a bit breathless. “You probably shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions. We don’t even know if we’re _compatible._ What if it just doesn’t work for us?Maybe you’re—”

“I have never, Abigail, felt for another that that I feel for you. In heart, in mind, in spirit, and in _body._ ” He pulled her to his lap, letting her feel exactly what he meant. He swept a hand up her neck, pushing her hair back.

“May I kiss you now?”

“Didn’t I already give you permission?”

He was so close, his beard just ghosting the skin of her face. “I am a gentleman of the first order _._ ”

“Fine, I’m sick of talking,” she whispered.

Then his lips were on hers, and when her mouth opened under his, all hesitation fled. Once they shut up, they were perfectly in sync.

* * *

Abbie’s fingers slipped again on the front of his breeches. Crane hissed as she brushed his half-hard cock.

“I can’t with these stupid buttons. You do it."

“Oh, no. I am quite enjoying this.”

“You won’t be if we’re here all night. And neither will I.”

He drew her up off the edge of the mattress to kiss her again.

* * *

Tugging a fistful of Crane’s hair prompted him to look up at her over her mound with one eyebrow raised.

“I wasn’t … don’t stop."

Watching her very carefully, he pushed her thighs open further and rested a knee on his shoulder—but didn’t dive back in. Instead, he stroked her slowly, keeping her alight but back just a bit from the edge.

His lazy circles gave her enough opportunity to catch her breath. “You are a fucking tease, Crane.”

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” He started to recite, eyes twinkling in the low light.

“Oh my God, _shut up._ I hate that sonnet.”

“Complete doggerel, I agree.” He pulled her closer to the edge of the bed, stretching her in a way that made her grateful for yoga practice.

“O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock ….” Crane pushed a finger into her, then out again, still teasing. “In the secret places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.”

“Song of Solomon? You’re going Biblical? Really?”

He dropped his head again and hummed his affirmative right onto her clit, sending Abbie arching her back off the bed with a yelp.

* * *

“Abbie … Abbie … I _need …._ ”

Chasing another orgasm, she ground her hips up into him, trying desperately to get the friction just right.

“What do you need?” She panted out.

He hitched one of her legs up higher, and she got the hint, wrapping both around his hips.

“We should … we should … try this,” Abbie moaned again as his next stroke went deeper than before. “Try this against … the wall.”

* * *

“You’re going to wake the neighbors, Miss Mills.”

Abbie looked up over her shoulder, trying to maintain balance with her elbows on the bed.

“What’re you going to do about it?”

She was more than enjoying the ride—it felt amazing to be thoroughly _fucked_ —but her ascent to climax was elusive. Crane, however, was apparently pretty enthralled by the rear view, and she was happy to vocally encourage him. But when he palmed her ass again, an idea flashed through her mind.

“Put your hand over my mouth.”

“Sorry?”

 _“Now._ Put your hand over my mouth, _now._ ”

* * *

 By round three, they were downright sloppy. _Real,_ Abbie corrected herself. No more sexy mugging, no more, ‘God’s wounds, you’re gorgeous’ or ‘Holy hell, been chopping a lot of wood lately?’ It was 3:30AM, and Abbie sat astride Ichabod as he lay diagonal across her mattress. The bed frame creaked, her unrestrained breasts jiggled, and her partner grunted softly below her.

She watched his face. _His stupid fucking handsome face._ The earlier smolder, animated by anticipation and discovery, had given way to a slack jaw and tired, glazed eyes that were still impossibly focused on her.

Feeling the tension begin to coil again, though less urgent than before, Abbie broke their silence with a soft smile.

“You look like you’ve seen the face of God.”

He reached up and cupped her cheek. “Oh, Grace Abigail Mills.”

* * *

Murky gray light filtered through the blinds, signaling the arrival of dawn.

“What do you think? Do you think they will write verse about us, in ages hence?”

“You mean you’re not going to write it? A little R&B, a little Shakespeare, a little Old Testament?”

He huffed. “What I would write, Lieutenant, would not be fit for the feeble minds of the modern public. And words are inadequate, regardless.”

Feeling warm and fizzy and _just_ overstretched, she laughed lightly and turned over, pressing her back against his chest. He wrapped an arm around her and dropped a kiss just behind her ear.

“I don’t know, I wouldn’t mind a sexy chapter in the Book of Witnesses.”

They fell silent. After a long minute, Abbie pulled his hand up to her chest, settling it between her breasts, over her heart. She traced her fingers over his.

“You know, right?”

Ichabod stroked his thumb over the soft skin on her sternum. “I do.”


End file.
